expired

how would the girl next door

look when she fapped it?

he’ll never know

as long as she’s controlled

by the eyes of the windows

to the communal courtyard

where all coming and going

takes place regularly

and even gods or demi-gods

won’t stride along chased by

the human dogs of gossip

and demon creatures of the

upside-down new liberal

movements

or even by both?

since locked down by law

there’s no human being seen

around

but stones/empty buses/

abandoned streets/closed

shops/except for the one

run by the red cross

selling food with expired

dates

where mummies queue up

people with masks/sunglasses

hats and caps

not even the eyes are free

to express themselves.

the poet listens/but nobody

talks

he observes/but there’s little

to observe

save for his friend the egyptian

the pizza baker

liked by most customers

polite/friendly/good willed

who still smiles and laughs

at any banter or joke

about peculiar human stories

“just another few weeks” he says

“for what?”

“for all shops to open”.

“really?”

“yes”.

“all right it’ll be a great day”

“thank you for coming to

teach me some german”.

“my pleasure”/the poet replies

and queues-up at the red cross

shopping for expired foodstuff.

still enjoyable for many here

‘food is precious’ says a label

advertising for its consumption

expired.deripxe

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

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